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WEATHER REPORTAPRIL 2009
2009-04-06 10:34:00
by Jill J. LangeI don't need to tell youabout this winter's coldor about the stock marketfalling steadily as the snowand freezing rain.Anyone who listensto the news or reads a paper,assuming you can find one,knowsand livesthis depression.Tell me how you are countingthe cards you are dealt.Where have you put your money?Have you found a guru,gone back to your therapist,renewed your prescription for Valium?Do you live in California wheremedical marijuana is an option?Do you want to know my cure?I'm counting robins.The sun came out last week,I spotted two robins under the maplewith the snowdrops,and further down the roadanother scratching grass,then two more.I'm up to twenty-one, no thirty now.You can trust a universethat creates robins.Jill J. Lange is an attorney and poet whose writing reflects her passion for the natural world and her interest in political and environmental causes. Her poems have appeared in The New Verse News previously.
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MY CURRENT STATUS
2009-04-05 10:00:00
by Lylanne MusselmanFacebook invadesmy space, createstendencies to twittermy time away.Lylanne Musselman resides in Indianapolis, Indiana. She's an Associate Professor of Writing at IUPUI, and she teaches creative writing classes at Ivy Tech Community College in Indianapolis and at the University of Indianapolis' School of Adult Learning. Her story feature, L WordS, is aired live monthly on BloomingOUT a weekly broadcast on WFHB radio. An award winning poet, Lylanne's poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Flying Island, New Verse News, Ichabod's Sketchbook, Tipton Poetry Journal, Poetry Motel, among others. _______________________________
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AMERICAN CIVIC ASSOCIATION
2009-04-04 12:25:00
by Alan CatlinNo one thought itcould happen herenot at ColumbineNot the HokiesNot the Binghamton folksEspecially not the receptioniststhe ladies taken down by loneshooter intent on taking outthe unarmed, defenseless,unsuspecting, victims of premeditatedmass murder: one dead already in her area,the other critically wounded calling 911 to say I've been shot.feigning death thereafteras the shooting continued in no exitclassrooms seventeen more would fallrear exit blocked, hostages takenin this place of aide:"Were here to help you"serving the defenseless, the poor,the confused, the lostImmigration issues handledCommunity outreach arrangedBasic services providedWe're here to preventthe killers from taking overCommunity Center Closed untilfurther notice Funeral arrangements and death noticeswill be announced once all the details are knownAlan Catlin's latest chapbook is a long poem, Thou Shalt Not Kill, an updating of Rexroth's seminal poem of the same name. Whereas Rexro...
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GAY SHEEP
2009-04-04 10:00:00
by Lee SchwartzThere’s a lab off the Pacific Highwaywhere they snare gay sheep, turn them straight,no more wooly love come draggingby the top edge of the hill.Injecting gay sheep with estrogento keep the natural order:replant fences and implant desire,to plump them up for slaughter chops.We play God in the gardenwhile most species in the wild are choked;the salmon have lost their way,snared in black tarry waters, the seal extinct.The future is drawn in plastic buckets,genes in savings deposit vaults,tinkering with nature’s Gameboy,creating dwarf melons, mating grapes.What does man want to extolthat Thoreau has not celebrated,while we go sheep shopping at the Gap,admiring every hanger of iceberg lettuce.Don’t tell me who to love,Don’t legislate my heart to fall on blue or brown eyes,I am not your coal mine or your cornfield,I will choose whose lips to warm.And the sheep with the coarse and wiry coat?Wouldn’t we prefer sleek and glossy?What about seeing eye cats? Faster tur...
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MEMO TO 'BAMA
2009-04-03 11:09:00
by David M. LawsSo let me see if I understand what’s happening:we worked our asses off for months and months,sent in our ten bucks each, used our rolloverminutes calling voters in Ohio and Florida , wroteletters to the editor, and sweated bullets to getyour ass elected, so you could appointall the discredited advisers of your opponents?And yes, I understand they work for youand you set the agenda, but my impressionwas that you had ALL NEW ideas andALL NEW talent and ALL NEW people.I mean if we had wanted the Clintons and their baggage,we could have voted for her, and if we had wantedleftovers from eight years of Bush’s crimeand incompetence and degredation we could have votedfor Grampy and the wicked witch of the Great White North.So I’m left thinking, what IS this?OK, man you’re the boss, and you say you can controlall these near-nazis, free market pirates, and neobuffoons,but all I’ve got to say is this had better bemajorfuckinggood.David M. Laws graduated in 2005 from W...
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IF CREDIT WERE A RIVER
2009-04-02 10:55:00
by Kirk Lumpkinafter the Credit River near Toronto, CanadaIf credit were a river           it would flow from a source       ;    in a reflecting pool      & nbsp;   where you could look      & nbsp;   and see yourself     &nb sp;    fit, trim, and smiling     &nbs p;    pictured & nbsp;         with the product     &nbs p;    of your choice,     &nbs p;    what you most      & nbsp;   want to own      &n bsp;   at that momentIf credit were a river          ...

RECESSION IN COMMERCIALS
2009-04-01 10:00:00
by Andrew Hilbertthese recession daysi've noticedmore and moreadvertisementsthat use stimulus astheir catchphraseit's the new "thing"it won't ever happenbuti'm patiently waitinganywaysto seethe creative waysviagra says"stimulus package"Andrew Hilbert has a degree in History at Cal State Long Beach and lives in Orange County, California.______________________________ ____________________
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GUNMAN KILLS 8 AT N. CAROLINA NURSING HOME
2009-03-31 10:00:00
by Steve Hellyard SwartzThe article said the nursing home has 112 bedsWith an Alzheimer’s unitMy father died of Alzheimer’sHe had Parkinson’s first and then he got worseI used to visit him and he’d kind of grumble a little when I saidHi, DadHe’d grumble not like he knew me but like what I was doing to the morning sunWas bothering himHe’d grumble, my DadAnd, his hand shaking, point at something – not at me, at something past me, how far past I never knewWhen the gunman walked into the home past the healwoman and the healman and the sickmen and the sickwomen when the gunman began shooting the people at the nursing home in Carthage, N.C.What did the Alzheimer’s patients see?When my father was dying a nurse in hospice said we should keep talking to himThat he knew we were thereThat his soul which was in transitStill loved for us to visitWhen the gunman shot the woman who was 98What did the Alzheimer’s patients think?Did they point their shaking fingersThe way my Dad po...
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GONE
2009-03-30 10:00:00
by Spielyour fingerprintsare threadbare fromsweat on grindstonebarely grippingthe skinny sideof a faceless dimeyou wish tomorrow you couldsing that old song once againhow your dime was worthy of      &nb sp;      &n bsp; your hard timeand you could share your songwith multitudesand that old song would last youall day longThere is no NEA nor MFA influence in diverse writings of personal conflict and social consciousness by the poet Spiel, published frequently, internationally, online and in independent press journals. His latest books are: “she: insinuations of flesh brooding,” March Street Press and “once upon a farmboy,” MadmanInk. Learn more about Spiel at: www.thepoetspiel.name.

RED SHIFT
2009-03-29 10:00:00
by Peter BransonNeither a borrower nor a lender be. (Hamlet)Before this latest mess they pestered usto use their cards, take out cute kit-your-homeout loans. Phone call, spam mail or snail, TV,imprint; end of the day, we fall. Roll up,ring out same tired theme tune: “It trickles down,prosperity, so all do well, d’you see.” Don’t say when they’ve recouped their share, be barebones left for you; blind rambling downturn blues.They bind us to them heart and soul, refinewith clever marketing how we consume.The bubble burst, black hole, the butterflyeffect, dark stuff; weird quantum alchemy,base lead from gold. Though Jack’s all right, Next-door’sredundant, fifty-two, requires CV,asks you. No gay Antonio to bailhim out, needs money –"Mortgage, bills to pay."Recession don’t change much ‘less you’re in debtor on the dole. Destabilized, may betoo late; the toy balloon, inflated, graspedby finger tips, released. No siren’s raised;no fire engine, police car or ambulance...
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WRONG SONG
2009-03-28 09:00:00
by Martin GalvinSome wars we seem to want we do not need to winDespite the spite with which the fight is made,Despite the call by those we call our leadersDespite the shame imputed to the shameless many.Some wins we want do not need a war.A war began yesterday but does not end today,Goes on for years, goes past all reason downThe road we didn’t want to go and past the roadWould take us back where we had been as boysAnd girls safe in a place we could not placeAnymore for it is far foul gone for evermoreFrom mind and map, from war’s foul aim to winDespite the difference between want and need,Despite the love we could have won together.In the last ten years, Martin Galvin has published over 170 more poems in a wide variety of journals and magazines, including Poetry, The New Republic, The Atlantic Monthly, Commonweal, Midwest Quarterly, Alimentum, OntheBus, Image, Poetry East, and New Issues and in a number of anthologies including Best American Poetry 1997 and Poets Against The ...
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HE WORKS WHILE I WATCH
2009-03-27 09:00:00
by Meredith EscudierThe toothless manacross the streetcan be found every dayof the week, Sundays included,lying with legs in lateral display,underneath a car.With monkey wrenches, screwdrivers,rags and spigots, valves and filters,he tinkers away, doing lube jobs,oil changes, wiring and re-wiring,welding, gluing, sanding and painting.Sometimes the hood is propped up,over an array of dark metal parts,an open cavern of coal-colored castings,a battery with colored buttons,a radiator with a screw-on cap.Sometimes the dashboard is disentrailedand a rainbow of spiky wires reaches outlike a limp porcupine, still impressiveif past its punchy prime.The cars vary. There’s the silvery one withno hubcaps and the run-down multi-purpose pick-up,the once-white Tercel and a BMW with no lights in view,a ‘72 Buick and a ‘75 Ford.Everyday, my neighbor gets up and slips into his overalls.Everyday, he sips consommé bouillon with rice balls.Everyday, he lights a cigarette and contemplates a car tha...
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WAITING FOR RELIEF
2009-03-26 09:00:00
by Cary B. ZiterSelf confidence and the dove have flown. Marrow swells in slumber, in the dizzy monotone. Inane diplomacy rules cold slate clouds.The flat water of my living room brings televisiontalk of adored warheads and subtropical pain killersthat no longer help abused genitals.For three unemployed months the ringlet curl has unwoundand I have sat here missing my manager's daily interrogation,his buffed leg irons applied to ankles, attitude, eye lids.Crime over love, blood over heart; they'll never takeme back. The Brooks Brothers suit has given way to soapopera as sick as the tobacco itching my yellow teeth.Soon I will write down all my prime investments,dine on stored sonnets, on disputes and tragedies,live only to forget the recent past.And shudder at the hissing sounds in my head, voicesfull of falsity that roll in like wild funeral griefeach time I plead for new relief.Cary B. Ziter is the author of three published books for young readers. He earned his MFA from Bennin...
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SACRAMENTO
2009-03-25 09:00:00
by Eliza Kelley I just soldmy mother’s diamond ringto pay for last month’s heat.This is no parablewrestling angels with golden bows.The lesson here must bethe terrible hymn of a pearlbecome dust, too long bereftof human touch, disintegratedinto its own dry weightlike the rising number of tent dwellerssorting throughthingarmentsdownto the bottomof the last supper citymission bin: finding nothing to fit, justthe lost pearl, broken loosefrom its button place.We hold only this truthself-evident, a baublecrushed in the palm of our hand, standtogether, alone, wonderwho will lift us up?We are suddenly wisewho find nothing left to pawn.Portrait artist and writer, Eliza Kelley, teaches Native American and Minority Literatures, Human Rights Discourse and Creative Writing at Buffalo State College in New York. Recent poetry and fiction appears in CONTE, RKVRY, Origami Condom, and Trillium.________________________________ __________________
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STIMULUS PACKAGE
2009-03-24 09:00:00
by Alan CatlinSmith & Wessonreportsexpected increased salesrevenuein handgunsalesto law enforcementsagencies countrywidedue to stimulus packagefunds& an anticipated spikein crime ratescaused by hard economictimes after badquarterly earningsfollowing drop inin discretionaryspending on shot gunsand hunting riflesno impact statementissued on expected risein private salesto individuals& criminalswas madeavailableat this timeAlan Catlin's latest chapbook is a long poem, Thou Shalt Not Kill, an updating of Rexroth's seminal poem of the same name. Whereas Rexroth riffs on the abuses of the Eisenhower adminstration, the update observes abuses of power in the previous administration with particular attention to the cynical, criminal behavior towards the Katrina hurricane victims. _________________________________________ ___
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COMMISSIONER OF THE LATEST BLUNDER
2009-03-23 09:00:00
by William AarnesChagrined is how the news clip catches Kathleenright behind me at my hearing--loyal disappointment.They've had the sense to air my readingof the passage I'd revised the most: " . . . miscalculated . . .ignored the misgivings of my staff . . . misinterpreted . . .unknowingly misinformed and thus misadvised . . .then mishandled . . . ." They show the Senatordefending my honesty, only to have me respond,"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll agree integritycan't excuse or correct my bungling." They switchto a story on the hurricane off the East Coast--same name as mine, though not my worry,nobody's error. Then a commercial for pain relief."Good job," my daughter assures me. My son nods.They slouch on either side of me, both as far awayas knowing better takes them. What is goodis my parents are dead--they'd crowd me,aware how commiseration castigates.Kathleen keeps trying--tonight chicken piquant,though I can't eat. I couldn't make loveif she wanted.  &nb...
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ON THE FLOOR OF THE EXCHANGE
2009-03-22 11:43:00
by Scot SiegelThe room is fullof the smartest peoplein the roomDoing their bestto invest the stimulusthat we keep counting onGood thingthe room is fullof the smartest peoplein the roomScot Siegel is a poet and land use planner from Oregon, where he serves on the board of trustees for the Friends of William Stafford. He is the author of Some Weather (Plain View Press, 2008), and Untitled Country, a chapbook due out from Pudding House Publications in 2009._______________________________
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LA ENTRADA PROJECT
2009-03-21 09:00:00
by Andrew HilbertLa Entrada Project - Wall1 from geraluzlove on Vimeo.Despite the Wind,the Interpreters workedatop the scaffoldingwhich clung to the rooftopsand plucked Imagesout of the Skyand stuck themon the blank CanvasBuilding.Interpretingthe message that the Earthsings to Civilizationevery day.Andrew Hilbert has a degree in History at Cal State Long Beach and lives in Orange County, California.______________________________ ____________________

CONSIDERING
2009-03-20 09:00:00
by Charlie MehrhoffConsidering the length of timethat it takes lightto travel across intergalactic space –Looking, often times, at starsthat have long since burned out –Wavinggoodbye to America.Charlie Mehrhoff has sent out little work in the past decade. Survival issues. However, he was recently featured in ORIGIN 2, Sixth Series. Crafting the Word is a Web site window into his work.____________________________________ ____

DESPITE EVERYTHING
2009-03-19 09:00:00
by Megan Webster After Jack GilbertThough polar ice sheets shatter, sliponto the ocean’s tonguevanish as if they had never been There will be musicthough tyrants squander peaceclaim what isn’t theirs — gods, templescoins, the breath of innocents There will be musicwhile smoke of one hundred soulssmothers the sky of Dora& a belted youth turns to martyr There will be musicwhile the ailing child moansin tremors of malaria& the exhausted mother expires There will be musicfor the bent rice planters of Somonathe grape pickers of Sonomafor the deaf Nigerian gravedigger There will be musicfor the blushing desert sundownthe Afghan marriage feastsoon to follow ...

ENTREPRENEUR'S HANDBOOK
2009-03-18 09:00:00
by Peter BransonHow does it work?We flout the rules:afraid our privilegewill be found out,distort the truthwhere there is scope for doubt.Secret cabals,meetings behind closed doors,witch hunt our enemies,settle new scores,corrupt the law-maker, march with the lout.What do we do when thingsflip inside out?Mouth what’s appropriate,sympathise, frown;hope it won’t last,a temporary blip,then, when the coast is clear,quietly jump town.What happens when the richcats leave the ship?Slowly we tire,go under, some folk drown.Peter Branson is a creative writing tutor. Until recently he was Writer-in-Residence for "All Write" run by Stoke-on-Trent Library Services. He began writing poetry seriously about five years ago and has had work published by many mainstream poetry journals, including Acumen, Ambit, Envoi, Iota, 14, Fire, The Interpreter's House, Poetry Nottingham, Red Ink and Other Poetry. In the last two years he has had success in several competitions including a first prize in The...
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NEWS ON A MARCH FULL MOON
2009-03-17 09:00:00
by David PlumbMid morning and the news readsSarandrea, Jessica Y., 22, Pfc, Army; MiamiFirst Cavalry Division. Killed in Iraq.Somewhere in a nearby yard, a blue jayyaks and yaks the morning quietway beyond the clicking news of smilessignatures and banks washing profits off casket walls.Marjorie Pollock is text messagingby the organic oranges at Whole Foods.Neal Ballenger holds a two poundground buffalo package in his left handa cell phone in his right.The newlyweds contemplate organic canesugar as second ingredients in yogurt.Daniel B. Hyde, 24 First Lieutenant army,Modesto California is dead in Iraq.Beyond the three dollar collard greenstraffic zips and tears the afternoon.No need to signal or cut off the competition.It’s only three lanes and four hundred yardsto the gas station and a cheap hoagie.A homeless man passes out a newspaperat the traffic island. Put a little in the potplease, and God Bless you Jeffrey Reed 23Army Sergeant, Chesterfield, Virginia dead in Iraq.Late after...
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MEMO TO AMERICAN INTERNATIONAL GROUP
2009-03-17 00:36:00
by Earl J. WilcoxYo! Sir King Croesus!Some say you’re rich,You know, richer than,Well…you.Reality check, Sir King!Aren’t you the oneWho--- you know---Laid the Golden AIG?Earl J. Wilcox writes about aging, baseball, literary icons, politics, and southern culture. His work appears in more than two dozen journals; he is a regular contributor to The New Verse News. More of Earl's poetry appears at his blog, Writing by Earl._______________________________
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DOWNTURN
2009-03-16 09:00:00
by David Radavich The brown leaves curl— it will be a long wait till spring, even wind seems to have abandoned earthly suffering, still and beneath hope— mud sinks in the grim weight of rain and politics, ideas are exhausted, the self wants love, love but clouds deny even the imagination its sour substitutes. Let us leave this deadening forest we cannot leave but somehow find new life and light beyond detritus and the game all spent, beyond the carousel of grub and greed.David Radavich's poetry publications include Slain Species (Court Poetry Press, London), By the Way (Buttonwood Press, 1998), and Great Hits (Pudding House Press, 2000), as well as in...

SCRIM NEWS
2009-03-15 09:00:00
by Robert H. BunzelThe world news atheatre scrim, anopaque screen goneghost in front ofshadows mouthingYeats and beasts.It is a time whenRumpole dies andno reprise makescomedy of fate.When walls webuilt deleverage asif the mortarwere sucked out.So hard to see andsay goodbye tostriven folk whojoin the lambsin bread lines ofconsultancy.And confidencewhen split anddried will be thestick to snap aonce proud westto wars we’ve onlyvisited since TVnews went color.Robert H. Bunzel was born in 1955, and lives in Piedmont, California. He is a practicing trial attorney in San Francisco, and 1978 graduate of Harvard College. His poems have appeared in local and national journals including Soundings East, Legal Studies Forum, Block’s Poetry Journal, Orphic Lute, Oxygen, Illya’s Honey, ZYZZYVA, White Pelican and Poet Magazine. He was president of the board of the literary tri-quarterly ZYZZYVA, “the last word in west coast writers and artists,” from 2002-2006. ______________________...
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PARTS IN A BOX
2009-03-14 10:36:00
by Lori DesrosiersHeather McNamara, 7, will be discharged from a New York hospital today after a daring, high-risk operation last month in which doctors removed six vital organs so they could take out a baseball-sized tumor that had invaded her abdomen and threatened her life. The marathon Feb. 6 operation lasted 23 hours. It was the first of its kind in a child and the second in the world, said the lead surgeon, Tomoaki Kato. In effect, the young cancer patient was both the donor and recipient of her own organs. . . . Kato's team removed and chilled the child's stomach, pancreas, spleen, liver and small and large intestines as they would for transplantation, so they could be restored after the tumor was taken out. --Steve Sternberg USA Today (March 10)a stomach in a boxnext to a spleenalong with a liverintestineson ice like sodaor picnic potato saladin a box not in mewhile they cut it outmean old cancer ballgoodbye partsgoodbye stomachpancreas, spleenyet here I amgoing home to my...
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IF I WERE A WOMAN IN THE SUDAN
2009-03-13 04:38:00
by Allene Rasmussen NicholsIf I were a woman in the Sudan who must leave the camp each dayto get waterand face rapeagain and againbecause my husbandwould be killed outrightAnd if my country’s betrayalhad been beaten and starved into my bodyand the dead bodies of my friendsI wouldn’t knowabout the International Criminal Courtor care about my country’s leader’s bruised egoBut when those aid trucks rolled awayand I knewthat my children had suffered so longonly to dieI would curse the nationswho allowed the trucks to leavewho knew we would dieand did nothing.Allene Rasmussen Nichols lives in Arlington, Texas, where she teaches English and drama at Gateway School. Her poems have been published in Philament, Ariel, Sylvan Echo and other journals and the anthology Dance the Guns to Silence: 100 Poems for Ken Saro-Wiwa. Her plays have been produced in California, Dallas, and New York.____________________________________ ______________
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15 10 33 28
2009-03-12 00:31:00
by Steve Hellyard SwartzCould be the lucky numbers in a fortune cookie butThey're notWhat they areIs one day's noted deadKilled in Germany, Alabama, Iraq, Sri LankaWe discover what the German teen was wearingCombat black so it seemsWe discover that the Alabama killer had tried but failed to land a job as a copWe discover almost nothing about the killers in Iraq and Sri LankaOther than they had strapped bombs to themselvesIn Las Vegas a man entered an ER and threatened to kill himselfThe police were called and he was told to lower his weaponWhen he refused, the cops shot and killed himMy mother told me yesterday that she thought her luck was turningShe said she didn't know why, she just didIn e-mails all around the world todayPeople east and westWill relate the grisly details of the mass murders in Germany and Alabama and Iraqand Sri LankaI'll call my mother this afternoonShe was eighty-three just the other day and she thinks her luck is turningIsn't that something to be happy a...

RUSH
2009-03-11 09:01:00
by Andrew Hilbertyou may thinkthat sticking a pinto himwould deflate himafter all, he looks empty insidebut you forgetthe man is full of shitand shit is quite a bitheavier than airthe weight of it allkeeps him firmly anchoredto his foundationand its followerswill beg forgivenessof all their transgressionsagainst himuntil they can be surehis voice will neverhaunt them againAndrew Hilbert has a degree in History at Cal State Long Beach and lives in Orange County, California.______________________________ ____________________
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RUSH SNIFFS
2009-03-11 09:00:00
by Bill CostleyRush sniffs his manicured fingers,stealthily reinserting them deepinto the source of his inspiration,dreaming of a bubbly high-coloniccapable of purifying his thinking.“My load’s greater than the massescan carry,” he silently maunders,knowing it would be fatal if heardoutside the hard castle of EIB:Excellence in Broadcastingwhere resonance validates all.Bill Costley serves on the Steering Committee of the San Francisco Bay area chapter of the National Writers Union.___________________________________ _____